The Baby's Father Is At It Again!

 

The baby's father, for reasons unknown, likes to stop by the house once in a while. We give him all the room he needs, but even now, some of our patients express not a little surprise by the way his clothes fit after he's spent the better part of two hours on some little thread which the rest of us have trouble making heads or tails of. In my usual way, I try to see it from his point of view. He'll race into the kitchen and exit just as rapidly to the bewilderment of our most trusted advisees. They'll complain about his false judiciousness and I'll try to change the subject by complimenting them on the way their hands look at least somewhat smoother. Sometimes, yes, they fall for that. But otherwise I'm sure to be taken to task about things, places, events and even occurrences about which my knowledge is scant at best. More than once I've had to send them a concealed message and then meet them halfway when their call to duty sends them running for cover, when all it was was a flashlight which fell from a lower shelf in our French style utility closet.

I know it can't be me, but I've been instructed to keep these critters well covered—slathered even—with some of our finest ointments. This way, if the baby's father decides to take a well deserved break and ends up spending the night in our Chapel, no one will even consider casting aspersions on my questionable ancestry. It's doubtful that anyone will ever guess my place of birth. Likewise, when I hand them a five-spot and suggest an exploration into alternative lifestyles, I know that my conversion rate is about to get a well justified comeuppance. It's okay, though. The only time I ever wanted to play this thing all the way to the end was the same day that my sister-in-law lost a tooth in a freak motorscooter accident. The guy was doing six to fifteen in the Arbendale Correctional Facility. He thought that this would be a good way to flush out some suspects before anyone got the wiser. This caused me to lose my water big time. Fortunately, no one there that day held any attraction for me. To be honest, they all looked like the type of impeccably dressed cretins I've done my best to avoid for going on fourteen and three ninths years.

If I had it to do all over again, I'd try to more effectively pretend that their odor caused me no discomfort whatsoever. When I think of all I've done for them over the years, I have to stop and wonder if I'll ever get my deposit back. It was over six hundred big ones and, as you are well aware, they don't make them like that on trees anymore. Far from it, in fact. My own Mother wouldn't even try to steal my short wave radio, God rest her soul. That's why I'll never coach an Explorer's troop ever again. It's just not worth it. As if it ever was. HA!

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